The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Friday, July 23, 2010

au pres de ma blonde

Afternoon tea with the Perfect Fit, aka Nuria, in the new cafe on Dawson Street.
I toast Nuria briefly.
While I toast her I scan the cafe for talent.
Various young women are trying on their femininity for size around the room.
Coy smiles.
Occasional manic mane of hair stroking.
The odd undulant thigh.
All that jazz.
An optimist such as I am, might reasonably assume they were somehow focussing their test runs on me.
From far away I hear Nur tuttutting.
"What's wrong?" sez me.
"In Spain," quoth she, "if you toast someone without looking them in the eyes, it means six months of bad sex for you."
"Six months of bad sex?" sez me, eyes wide and round.
"Yes," quoth she.
"Wow," sez me, "six months of bad sex. That's gonna be great."
"Why great?" wonders she curiously.
"Well Nur old pal," sez me, "let me this way put it. Six months of bad sex is going to be a considerable improvement on my present situation."
Just for luck I toast her again five times in quick succession, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the floor as I do so.
That famous fleeting grin flashes across my gentle preraphaelite features.
"Do I get to choose the women who'll be having bad sex with me for the next six months?" I enquire innocently.

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